


Grapefruit

by armint



Category: Grand Theft Auto V
Genre: Action, Action & Romance, Comedy, F/M, Romance, Self-Insert
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:08:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23335897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/armint/pseuds/armint
Summary: "...the more I’ve gotten to know him, the more obvious it is that Trevor hates controlling women. At times he seems to idolize them, kiss the ground they walk on and dismember the people who get in their way."After everything that happened to Michael, Trevor, and Franklin, in comes Lester's cousin Jenny, new to Los Santos and their life of crime. While the gang thinks everything has settled, loose ends they didn't tie up are going to come and bite them in the ass, while sucking Jenny into the life as well.
Relationships: Lester Crest & Original Female Character(s), Trevor Philips/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 15





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys!
> 
> I want to preface that I wrote this for me. It is a self-insert. But, I hope you can look beyond that and enjoy the story. I had a really great time writing it, and it made me feel like a writer for the first time in a while. I know that my view of Trevor may be a bit off, but I was exploring a side of him that I think is interesting.
> 
> Anways, please enjoy!

It was foggy and cold when the black sedan pulled into the parking lot. The car was wet and glossy, and when Mr. Madrazo stepped out and shut the door he wiped his hand on a handkerchief. A black SUV hosting his guards pulled in as directed, parking, and two men stepped out and towards him. Martin said nothing, looking at them with a reproachful look before stepping up the stairs to the building. It wasn’t a tall building, four floors with average ceilings and dark windows. A handful of radio shows were filmed here, but it being just a little after 4 am, not many cars were in the lot. Martin stepped inside with his guards in tow.

He had come to see a certain man, one that knew quite a bit about a certain Michael De Santa, and seemingly him as well. When he had heard the talk on the radio he felt a flush of red, his whiskey glass flying across the room. “Clean that up!” He had barked at his wife, Patricia, slamming his hand on the island. His head had hung in exasperation and she scurried to clean it up.  _ Michael fucking De Santa _ .

Even though Michael had paid him back for everything, and Trevor had made him back off, Martin had decided to leave Michael alone. He wasn’t going to hurt him. He wasn’t going to go after him.  _ He wasn’t going to kill him _ .

But something snapped in him at the radio show, at the speculation online about who or what this was about. Crime had quieted down in the city, and Martin felt Michael had actually retired, lounging about in his backyard. The thought made Martin sick.

He palmed the ear-less side of his head subconsciously as he boarded the elevator. His guards stood in front of him, the one on his right pressing the one for the fourth floor. Martin didn’t have to say anything, and though it was a small moment it felt good, that small bit of power. Michael and Trevor had taken that from him -that control. He was a mob boss for God’s sake, if he didn’t have power or control over others then what was the point?  _ What was the goddamn point? _

The elevator dinged and opened, and Martin let his hand fall, feeling for the gun in his jacket. Him and his men stepped onto the floor, following a small hallway to a glass door, the WCTR logo printed on it. Martin pushed open the door, startling the receptionist. “I need to see Dr. Isiah Friedlander.”

“Sorry, sir, he’s on the air right now -” The receptionist, a young woman, maybe mid 20’s, pushed her hair back. She had a feigned expression of concern on her face. She didn’t give a shit, no one in this fucking town gave a shit.

“Lead me to him. Now.” A smile slid on her face until it halted, her eyes growing wide and white as she looked behind him.

“Why is there...why are you doing this…”

“Do you want me to tell you again?” He banged his hand on the desk, his words loud and wet, spit shooting at her face. She recoiled at it, whimpering as she stood, leading him down a hallway. The walls were black and claustrophobic, and at the end of the hall she pressed against the wall, gesturing for a door. A guard kept a gun on her as Martin kicked the door open, startling the man he had been looking for and a young, putridly nervous assistant. He fell over, clicking off the microphone for the show as the sound of skin against skin filled the small, soundproof space.

Friedlander cried out from the punches, and when they ceased he felt at his face. Blood spilled out of his nose. “You’re crazy!” His voice was rough from where Martin had first gripped it.

“No, I am not crazy! I am not talking about things I shouldn’t know about on the  _ radio _ !” Martin kicked a chair in his direction, his chest heaving. Recognition fell on Friedlander’s face.

“Martin Madrazo.” The name was near inaudible coming out of his mouth.

“You know me, yes? You talk about me on your show.” Martin approached him, Friedlander scurrying backwards on the floor.

“Look, don’t kill me, okay? I change the names!”

“NOT ENOUGH!” His voice boomed. “Changing my name to Martinez Madraza is not changing my name!”

Friedlander backed against the wall, his voice shaking as he spoke. “What are you going to do then, kill me?”

Martin took a sharp intake of breath, composing himself. He straightened his posture, taking a moment to look up at the ceiling, calming himself. “No,” He let the moment sit, pulling out his handkerchief from before and wiping the blood from his knuckles. Friedlander waited. “I am going to use you, and then I am going to kill you.”

“...use me?”

“Use you!” He spat, pointing at the other. “You know about Michael. All about him. His whole story, yes? Enough to get you a fucking book. I need your intel on him, and I need you to get me close to him, and his family, and anyone he cares about. Do you understand?”

“Yes…”

“Good.” Martin turned around, nodding his head at one of his guards. The guard went towards Friedlander, pulling him up from the ground and gripping his arm, leading him after Martin. As he crossed the threshold of the room a girl did the same across the city, stepping out from the airport and towards a line of taxis. Her hair was dark and short and tucked behind her ears, some strands just long enough to brush against her shoulders and the backpack on her back. She had only that and a suitcase, both containing all of her belongings. She waved for a taxi, and when climbing inside the driver eyed her.

“I’d try whistling next time. It works before here.” A smile appeared on her face, coy. A lump of nerves sat in her stomach. “Not from a city?”

“Not even close.” He smiled, looking back forward.

“Where you headed?”

“El burro Heights.”

  
  



	2. One

Lester didn’t smell as good as I hoped he would.

His house, although clean, smelled stale and like medication. It was obvious why, with his cabinets of drugs and the sealed windows. When I stepped into his house, I took a moment to adjust, feigning interest in my surroundings while trying to breath through my mouth. It wasn’t ideal, but it would do.

I had been the one to call Lester. I hadn’t spoken to him in years, having given up on immediate family and those farther, but with a feeling of unabashed hopelessness I felt the need to move to Los Santos. It wasn’t like I had talent to show here, though. I just felt drawn to the city.

“Thank you, again, cus’.” My voice drifted to where he had disappeared, and I was met with the sight of his arm waving around the corner in dismissal. He had seemed only slightly happy when I had arrived, offering a one arm side hug before disappearing into his house, with me catching up to a door in my face. The landing was loud with dog barking and the buzz of the door as it opened and closed, and although I had begun to doubt coming here I realized I could at least feel safe in this house.

I could see he had cleared a space for me in the front room that was to the left of the entrance. Although boxes and metal cabinets still rounded the walls, an air mattress lay flat next to its pump in the middle of the room. “THANK YOU!” I called again, louder, and I heard only a soft ‘don’t worry about it’ from the far room.

He wasn’t my cousin, but he was so far beyond that in the family tree I didn’t care about defining our relationship correctly. I met him once before, when I was around 12 and he was in his late 20s or early 30s, and his family had flown to the south for Thanksgiving. He was sharp and snotty the whole time. But, for some reason or other, he was the only one I had kept in contact with online. And luckily he lived in Los Santos.

I settled into the room, putting down my backpack and pushing the handle down on my suitcase. I flopped onto the air mattress as if it were filled, feeling smelly and happy and home. Lester came to the edge of the room in his wheelchair.

“Michael will understand your will to come here.” He stated, and I opened one eye to look at him. The thin sunlight coming from between the blinds made his skin look pasty. In the past years I had little to go off of how he looked. When I was young he had buzzcut hair and a thinner face, the wrinkles shallow. On LifeInvader he didn’t have a picture, but searching through his friends list there were some 800x800 pixel images of him with people, and not much could be taken from those. I took in his age as I looked at him. “He’ll be here soon. I hope you don’t mind the company.”

“It’s your house.” I sat up, smiling at him, wrapping my head around what he had said. His eyes were on my legs, and for a brief moment I wondered how far apart we were in the gene pool. But he quickly looked away, gesturing to the door with his cane.

“Don’t worry when the doorbell rings. Only I can unlock it.” I nodded, unsure of how to take this information. My hands rubbed down my calves.

When the buzzer went off, I had effectively brushed my teeth and combed my hair. I was in the process of putting it in a ponytail when the door swung open. I leaned out of the doorway at the sound of voices, and was met with the sight of two men. They were tall, that was my first thought, and I looked from the tip of their heads then to their faces, settling on a rough and joking face. He had lines and grins and was balding, and his face lit up as he talked, his body mirroring the movements in an exuberant nature. My breath caught in my throat at the sight of him, and as they approached I attempted a step forward to introduce myself. My foot hit a stack of books and I faltered, the darker haired one catching me by my shoulders. My brain felt stunted; and I stared blankly at his face as the other squeezed past him.

“Thank you,” I mumbled, the other moving towards Lester, his voice loud and mocking. My eyes followed him -he hadn’t noticed me at all. The one holding my shoulders snorted. “Sorry.”

“Don’t mention it.” He let me go, briefly patting my shoulder before following the other. I stood stationary in the hall as he spoke, facing forward. “I assume you’re the relative?”

“She’s my, uh, cousin.” Lester replied. The darker hair one looked back, winking, and I knew instantly this was the Michael he had mentioned earlier. The other, though, glanced back a second before taking a double look, staring at me. My hands fell to my side. His gaze was like a wildfire and I felt hot instantly, and God I had not been attracted to someone like this before, or maybe not in so long? He turned his body towards me and his eyes looked me up and down.

“Hello,” The word oozed out his mouth, low and like a purr. He looked me up and down.

“Don’t even think about it!” Lester snapped, turning in his wheelchair. “We have work to do, Trevor, so if you could just -”

_Trevor._

The name felt fuzzy in my mind and hot in my hips. I pursed my lips. “ _Trevor_.”

“Oh, jesus...” Michael muttered.

“What’s your name?” Trevor sauntered towards me, stopping just in front of me, placing his hand on the wall high and leaning on it. He leaned towards me. I felt small and restless, and I began to pull my hair back into a ponytail as I replied.

“Jenny.” He grinned.

“Hi.”

_Fuck_.

“Hello,” My response was barely muttered before Lester groaned, the wheels of his chair squeaking.

“Leave her alone, Trevor! She’s my family.” His fingers began tapping at a keyboard. “Have some respect…” Trevor paid him no mind, brushing the back of his hand against my cheek. Lester seemed wholly distant and unimportant; nothing could compete with the feel of his rough knuckles on my face and his eyes boring into me.

“Aren’t you somethin’...” He took a raspy breath, his chest rising and my eyes looked at what shown from his stretched collar. It was tan and muscular and his neck was thick. My eyes traveled up past his chin and over his features, the indents of old scars on his skin, and right to his brown eyes. He was way older than me, it was obvious. But I couldn’t help but appreciate every feature my eyes roamed over. And those eyes, so brown and dark and intense -

Before anything else could be done or said a hand plopped on his shoulder, yanking him back.

“Come on, T, we have work to do.” Trevor stumbled backwards, pulled by Michael’s hand, but still eyeing me as he went. I felt I had been plucked out of the moment, but our matched gaze only broke off when Michael pulled him around to face Lester. I fidgeted where I was standing, and didn’t give myself time to think as I adjusted the hem of my shorts and my shirt tucked in at the waist. My hand felt for loose hairs around my neck and that my ponytail was high enough.

“What kind of work do you guys have?”

I know Lester’s a criminal. It isn’t something that bothers me, morals are subjective after all, and so this question was less of an inquiry and more of a prompt to speak more to Trevor. I knew Lester knew this as well, because he sighed and shot me a look over his shoulder. He had let his work be known to me over the phone before. His voice had slurred with liquor and he let secrets drop into my lap as if they were pointless facts, like he had went to the park that day or had a coupon for bread. In the days that followed I folded the information my mind in different ways, coming to realize that I didn’t care at all about what he did; it didn’t affect me.

“The kind that isn’t usually shared with civilians.” His tone was cold and tired, and I couldn’t help but smile at his feigned irritation. He wasn’t truly mad.

“Lester, do you really think I would say something?”

Before he could roll his eyes or sigh Trevor spoke up, his voice loud in the tiny space. “Yeah, come on, Wheels, let her know! Let her stay!” He patted Lester roughly on the back before gripping his shoulder at the dip right at the start of his neck, squeezing. _Is he threatening him?_

“Alright! Geez, don’t touch me, Trevor.” Trevor released him, raising his hands in the air.

“Like it never happened, Amigo.”

“Say that to the pain I’m feeling in my shoulder right now.” Lester grumbled, going back to work at his computer. Michael settled onto the side of the bed and looked at me.

"You know much about the work he does?" He asked.

"Not all of it." I admitted, stepping into the doorway and leaning against the frame. “Just that it’s illegal.”

Michael chortled, shaking his head. “And you don’t _care_?”

“None of it affects me.”

“What if people die?”

“Doesn’t affect me, ‘less I know them.”

“But you don’t think it’s awful?”

“It being awful doesn’t affect how it’s related to me.”

“Not everyone has such a back and forth battle of self loathing and ‘immoral’ actions as you do, Mikey.” Trevor spoke up, stepping closer to me as he talked. I couldn’t help but notice how every word seems to jolt a movement in him. “If she says she’s fine with it, that’s all the better for us.”

“I’m just trying to understand her better.” Michael shrugged, resting his elbows on his knees. 

“...moving on.” Lester interjected, turning around in his wheelchair. “We have things to discuss. I know that you’re, uh, ‘retired’, Michael. But this new radio show with Dr. Isiah Friedlander...it’s concerning.”

“I know, that prick knows too much.” Michael shakes his head, rubbing at his eyes. “I should’ve offed him when I had the chance.”

“Yeah, you _really_ should have, Mikey!” Trevor growls, pointing an accusatory finger at him. “You’re too soft! Just a pudgy old man.”

“ _Bite me._ ”

“Whatever about past mistakes!” Lester sighs, his voice exasperated. I can’t help but smile at their bickering. They were like children, even though they had graying hair and balding. Michael seemed to look the youngest out of the group, but I wondered if that was really the case. Trevor seemed so wound up I wouldn’t doubt he was on any drugs. 

“There’s no doubt Friedlander has some form of protection,” Lester paused, glancing between the two of them. “...especially now that he’s some kind of famous. It’ll be difficult to get close to him.”

“Get close to him?” Michael questions, raising an eyebrow. “To kill him?”

“You got any better ideas, Michael?” Trevor asks.

“No, I’m just clarifying.” He shakes his head before looking at me. “Are you really okay with this?”

Everyone looks at me, and I laugh a little, looking between them. “I’m fine with it.” I pause, looking at Trevor. He’s smiling at me, and I feel my stomach jump, a grin appearing on my face. He’s too handsome.

“Hey, hey -” Michael snaps his fingers, breaking our gaze and shifting it to him. “Stop the flirting. We came over here to get shit done, Trevor. Remember?” 

“Amigo, do you remember when you first saw your wife, dancing naked around a pole, with a bunch of men ogling her and throwing cash? And you thought to yourself, I’m going to take that one home, and marry her, and pay for her boobs to be stuffed with silicone and have her pop out kids that I’m going to ruin before they even have a chance at being good people? Because this is my moment, Mikey, and I want you to remember you trying to ruin it when we’re at the altar -”

“Trevor! You’re not going to marry her!” Lester protests, slamming a fist on the arm of his wheelchair.

“WHY NOT?”

My cheeks are hot from Trevor’s monologue, and I cover my mouth with my hands, hiding the grin on my face. This man is insane, and he wants to marry me, and I can’t help but feel overwhelmingly flattered and embarrassed and _turned on!_

Lester sighs, completely exasperated now. He waves me away as he speaks. “Jenny, can you please leave? You’re too distracting…”

I nod, forcing my grin to a smile and dropping my hands in front of me. “I have to settle in anyways....it was nice meeting you guys.”

“Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah wait, wait,” Trevor turns from Lester, pointing at me, and I pause. He breathes out his nostrils, taking a moment before speaking. “I wanna see you later.”

“Trevor…!”

“SHUT UP, WHEELS!” He barks, balling his hands into fists. “She can make the choice herself!”

Before Lester can reply I put a hand up at him to stop, smiling at Trevor. “We’ll see each other.”

Trevor looks pleased at the reply, breathing heavy, and I turn and walk away before anything else could be said. My brain stupidly imagines that this is what was drawing me here, his unknown existence a propeller, and I get down on the flat air mattress, hiding my face in my arms. 

When they’re done discussing their business, I’ve set up the air mattress and am roaming around the kitchen, seeing what food Lester has. The house gets quiet when Michael and Trevor leave, their voices loud and bickering and childish. I close the cabinets as I hear Lester wheel himself to the kitchen.

“You shouldn’t do anything with Trevor.” Lester warns, appearing in the doorway. I turn, leaning against the kitchen counter.

“Yeah?” I offer, feeling uncomfortable with his gaze. He’s clearly miffed.

“He’s insane. He’s too much for you.”

“I’ll be careful.” 

A heavy silence settles between us, and I watch him as he looks at the tiles, ignoring me. He eventually sighs, shaking his head and wheeling himself out of the room. 

  
  
  


To: crest.lester@bmail.com

Subject: I’M COMING!

Date: November 17, 2013, 11:45 AM

It’s happening, cus! I’m arriving this week.

My plane will land early, but, you know how flyin is. I’m sure I’ll be there an extra hour waiting for luggage. I’ll be there on Wednesday, btw, probably around 10 am?

By the way...haven’t spoken to you on the phone in a while. You forget to pay the bill? If you even pay it...haha! Kidding.

Anyways, I’ll see you then. I’m excited to see how much you’ve changed, appearance-wise anyways. But we’ve already talked about that.

See you soon!!

Jenny

To: j_davis@wahoo.com

Subject: RE: I’M COMING!

Date: November 17, 2013, 6:23 PM

I’ll see you then. Just text me once you’ve landed.

By the way- I do pay my phone bill.

Lester


End file.
